Honor and Valor
by runaway ballista
Summary: FE9,10. There are some men who fight for honor, and those who fight for valor; Oscar is not sure he is either. Set prior to the events of FE9 when Oscar was still in the service of the Crimean Army.


This is set pre FE9, when Oscar was still in the service of the Crimean Army. This was my first time writing Oscar, Greil, and Titania, so it was sort of a fun experiment, but I'm not sure how well I nailed each of them. Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

**Honor and Valor**

The biggest downside of being in the service of the Crimean Army, Oscar had decided, was the travel. It wasn't all that frequent, and it was never outside the country, but since he was still a relatively freshly knighted soldier, only two years into his service, it was part of his duty to embark on journey missions with the rest of his platoon that took him days, sometimes weeks, out of Melior. Being away from his home for so long made him anxious. His father was abed with illness, and both his brothers young – though Boyd, bless his stubborn little heart, did everything he could to help despite his age. Their father always insisted to Oscar that he could take care of everyone just fine when his eldest son was away, but Oscar knew better. The long days in the army were hard enough, but when he had to leave the city, Oscar worried for his family so that he could hardly sleep.

Luckily, this mission was turning out to be a fairly brief one. Their destination had only been a four-day march from Melior, and they were two days into their return journey. Oscar couldn't complain about the scenery, if nothing else – at the very least he had something nice to look at while he was getting saddlesores he was certain would never go away. However, the thought of returning home and seeing his family lifted Oscar's spirits enough that he was even able to tune out the provocative ramblings of one of his fellow soldiers, a peculiar young man in red armor who had been on the same platoon as Oscar since they'd finished their training. Somewhere along the line, the hotheaded fool had decided that Oscar had done something to offend him, or something – Oscar wasn't really sure, truth be told – and the red-armored knight hadn't left him alone since.

It was around late afternoon when their captain slowed down, signaling for a halt. "There's a town just up ahead, lads," he called. "We'll stop there for the night. Not much longer till we're back in sweet Melior!"

There was a rally of cries from the soldiers, though not the most spirited, for they were tired and eager to rest. Oscar was inclined to feel the same, just then; though he was sturdily built and no stranger to labor, he was sore and his arm ached from bearing the weight of his weapon. To make matters worse, the year was approaching its coldest season, and the settling frost bit at Oscar's exposed skin. The thought of a warm inn tonight and seeing his brothers and father in just a few short days kept his spirits up, though, and soon he and the rest of his platoon could see the edge of the village – the windows would soon light up with their evening fires, Oscar thought, and he found himself idly wondering if Boyd would be trying to chop all the firewood by himself again.

Before they'd even reached the edge of the town, however, one of its denizens came running toward them. The captain signaled for a halt again, and Oscar pulled gently on the reins. "Please, you must – oh, thank the goddess, you're from the army, aren't you?" The young woman had a kerchief tied around her head, keeping her hair away from her face, which was wrought with desperation. "Oh, please, you must help us! A group of bandits came to attack our town, and we don't – we sent out a request to a nearby mercenary company, but they haven't arrived yet! Please! We don't have weapons of our own – they'll burn our village to the ground!"

"Watch to whom you're speaking!" said one of the knights quite sharply, and the townswoman recoiled, clasping her hands to her breast. "Use words of respect when addressing the esteemed Captain – "

"And don't _you_ speak out of turn, soldier," the captain cut him off, a bit coldly. "There's a mercenary company on the way, you said, miss?"

"I don't know!" the young woman cried. "The messenger we sent hasn't returned, and what if it's too late by the time they – "

"Captain," Oscar said, uninvited but not quite so boldly as his peer had, "with all due respect, I think we should help them. They are, after all, the people we're sworn to protect, and this mercenary company doesn't sound like something we should rely on to arrive in a timely fashion."

The captain studied Oscar for a moment with scrutinizing eyes before he nodded gruffly. "Well said, lad, even if you did speak out of turn. Besides, this was where we planned to stay the night…don't worry, young miss, we'll drive off these bandits. Now to assess the – "

"There's no time to assess the situation!" The outburst came from the red-armored knight, who had insisted on riding close behind Oscar every step of the journey. "Time is of the essence! We must ride to the aid of these fair people of mother Crimea, axes and lances in – "

"Enough of your addlebrained chatter, Kieran!" the captain barked, and Kieran fell silent. "Don't make a mistake as foolish and as fatal as that one. There is _always_ time to assess the situation. Better that you delay your charge and know what you're fighting than to run in and get your senseless head cut off!" Nudging his horse forward, the captain looked down at the young woman. "You go on and get back to your village, young lady. Tell everyone to get inside and stay there. Let them know that the knights of Crimea will take care of these bandits!" With a grateful sniff, the townswoman nodded and turned on her heel to run back to the village. "Oscar! You're the one with all the brilliant ideas, today – what can you tell me about the situation from what you can see from here?"

A bit startled at the sudden invitation for input, Oscar faltered for a second before he turned his squinted eyes to the village that lay just ahead. "I, ah…it looks like the bandit advance is still fresh, sir, but it'll probably escalate. Knowing how groups like this usually function, their goal being just to wreak havoc and steal what they can grab…er, well, from what I can see from here, ah, it doesn't look like they're in full force, but if they feel threatened they're likely to have the rest of their group come in as reinforcements…"

The captain huffed through his impressively bushy mustache. "A textbook answer, lad, but a solid one nonetheless. Hopefully today you trainees will learn some real life application of all that!" Pulling his horse into a trot in front of the rest of his platoon, he raised his lance. "There aren't many of us, lads, but there are only so many of them, and we're superior in skill! Follow my lead, boys, and we'll have a sure victory and a night of warm food and drink ahead of us! For Crimea!"

"For Crimea!" the rest of the platoon cried out, although Oscar privately thought it was a bit much for a battle against some bandits and little else. The captain led the charge, his lance held high, and it glinted orange and red in the setting sunlight; his loyal knights followed, not the least zealous of who was red-armored Kieran, bellowing his battle cry as he swung his axe furiously at the bandits.

Oscar had predicted that there would be reinforcements, but he had sorely underestimated the size of the ragged group of bandits. Not ten minutes into the battle, a swarming, roaring throng of axe-bearing ruffians descended upon the village, and suddenly the captain and his knights had a lot more on their hands than they'd initially bargained for. Oscar heard his captain calling over the roar of battle – the words he could just barely make out, but the meaning registered itself with him all the same: _hold out, keep a defensive line, just keep on defending until those mercenaries arrive!_ Oscar fell into line beside Kieran, his lance twirling and glinting in the steadily fading sunlight. Kieran's axe flashed brightly in the corners of his vision, the red-armored knight's cries ringing in his ears far more loudly than the rough grunts and shouts of the enemy. Oscar felt his focus narrowing, the distractions and worries of everything else fading to the background. He couldn't even feel his arm aching anymore – all he could feel was the searing rush of adrenaline and the weight of an enemy against his lance.

A lady's cry shook him from his battle reverie. Throwing a man of smaller stature than the rest to the ground with the force of his lance, Oscar's head snapped in response to the singular sound, and saw a townswoman stumble as one of the bandits grabbed her roughly by the arm. Pulling her in close to himself, he held his hand axe up to her throat. "You're comin' back with us, girlie," he growled, "and if you make any sorta unnecessary noise, I'll cut up your pretty white throat." Too petrified to make a sound, she merely trembled in his hold.

Oscar acted more on instinct than anything else. Despite the fact that he was acting in direct conflict with the captain's orders, he wheeled his mount around and charged, rushing like green lighting toward the cowardly bandit. He heard Kieran's cry of protest as he left the defensive line, but there was no room – no time – to consider what he was doing, only to know that it was right.

His lance whistled through the air, plunging clean through the bandit's shoulder. Letting out a startled gurgle, he dropped both his weapon and his hold on the girl, trying to stagger away, but with no success. The young woman, too surprised to act immediately, merely turned her large eyes upon Oscar's backlit visage in stunned appreciation. "Get inside!" Oscar urged her, and his tone, though not harsh, brooked no argument. Grabbing a fistful of her skirt in one hand, the girl fled and ducked into the nearest home as Oscar jerked his bloodstained lance back and slapped the wounded man down with the flat of his lance.

"You selfish coward!" Kieran thundered as Oscar rode back into the line. "You dare sacrifice the integrity of our frail defense? You – " He crossed axes with one of the bandits, who was trying to play dirty by cutting at the horse and not the knight, and his speech was punctuated by grunts and heaving breaths. "Squinty-eyed – bleeding – coward – disobeying a command of our – ngh! – esteemed captain!"

Oscar freely ignored Kieran's ignorant blathering and kept on dealing fierce blows with his weathered lance. He was sure he'd hear it from the captain later, but if _someone_ hadn't done something, then that young lady would have –

"Greil Mercenaries, move out!"

Oscar's thoughts were interrupted as the small rally of unfamiliar cries reached his ears. He resisted the urge to turn his head to look, but the new arrivals were just as soon in his field of vision, crashing down upon the enemy with a ferocity surprising for their small numbers. Most dazzling was their only soldier on horseback, a fierce red-haired knight whose sharp-edged axe flashed in the setting sun she turned her head to fell another enemy. Oscar almost mistook her for one of his own force by her white armor, edged in gold. Surrounding her almost immediately were her comrades, a small but myriad assortment of mercenaries who fought with skill unheard of for what were supposed to be mere sellswords.

With the arrival of the mercenaries, the fight ended unexpectedly quickly. As Oscar and his comrades pushed into the enemy lines, disorganized and scattered as they were, the green-armored young knight saw one of the mercenaries make a beeline for who appeared to be the leader of the bandits. The mercenary was older than the rest, his face speaking of fearsome deeds and more experience on the field than Oscar could ever hope to achieve, and he bore an axe of impressive size. Oscar, momentarily distracted from his part in the battle, watched as the mercenary took a swing with his great axe and felled the bandits' leader in a single blow.

With the fall of their leader, the bandits were quick to retreat, leaving behind only scattered debris and broken weapons. The captain called for a halt, and Oscar finally let himself relax for a moment, his posture slumping slightly in the saddle. He lowered his lance to let its tip rest against the ground, trying to get his breath back. The last vestiges of daylight peered shyly through the trees that lined the small town, and even though he was no longer working under the harsh heel of the sun, Oscar felt like his skin was burning up under the heavy armor. He was glad the battle was over so he could relax and perhaps bathe at the inn, but his comrade Kieran seemed not to share his sentiment. Despite their captain's orders, he was still nudging his horse forward in awkward circles, as if desperate to find another enemy to fell with his axe. "Craven curs," he said breathlessly. "They would rather leave their tattered honor behind than defend it to the death!"

"Settle down, Kieran," the captain barked. "They're bandits, not soldiers. The fight's over."

Kieran muttered a mild curse under his breath but pulled his horse back into line with the others. The captain dismounted, entrusting the reins of his horse to one of the senior knights in the platoon, and strode forward to meet the mercenary wielding the great axe. "Well met," he said, with more respect than Oscar would have expected him to address a mercenary, and inclined his head briefly. "You are arrived just in the nick of time. Without your aid, the battle would have been drawn out much further and probably involved more casualties."

The mercenary, whom Oscar now assumed to be the leader, stepped forward and returned the greeting. He had a hardy face, with a strong nose set under thick eyebrows. "We were late," he acknowledged apologetically. "We were unfortunately held up along the way. We're grateful that you arrived in time to defend the people of this village. It wouldn't be right for us to take the full payment for this job – I'd like to offer you and your men a cut."

The captain shook his head. "We're the king's men," he said, "and he provides us with enough. We were merely performing our civic duty. Besides, mercenary work is tough living." He spoke knowingly, his gaze turning to the red-haired woman for a moment.

The mercenary leader chuckled briefly – his voice was gruff, but his laughter was warm. "Always sticklers for honor, aren't you? Well, fine. In that case, I'll use a portion of the pay to buy you and your men a round of drinks – the lot of you've earned it, and you can't deny that much."

There was an excited cheer from the captain's men, and the captain couldn't help but chortle. "We'd be much obliged, my fellow warrior. Allow me to introduce myself – I'm Captain Jerric of the Seventeenth Platoon. Might I ask your name in turn?"

"Greil," said the mercenary, leaning on his great axe. "Of the Greil Mercenaries. Well met, Captain Jerric. Nightfall's upon us – let's drink, shall we?"

* * *

Unlike the majority of his comrades, who had been far too excited at the prospect of warm drink and warm company, Oscar had wisely decided to postpone the drinking until he'd seen his steed safely to the stables and had a warm bath. By the time Oscar came down to the common room of the inn, his comrades had mostly already drunk themselves silly with Greil's mercenaries and some of the townspeople as well. Taking a pint for himself, Oscar found a relatively quiet corner of the common room to sit and to relax.

Of course, it wasn't long before he had company. Oscar looked up to see a young woman at his table – the same girl he'd saved from the hands of that cowardly bandit earlier. "Can I help you, miss?" he asked politely.

"I, ah…" The girl seemed shy, or perhaps embarrassed, or perhaps she was a little drunk herself – either way, her cheeks were flushed, and Oscar wasn't sure of the reason why. "I wanted to thank you for, ah…well, you saved my life…"

"Oh. Ah, you're welcome." Oscar was not entirely sure what to say, so he echoed the words of his captain. "I was merely doing my civil duty."

"I just – you were so valiant! You knights, you're so very brave, and I was…ah, wondering if you wouldn't like to come back to my father's house for a warm meal…he's the village chief, you know, and you are welcome if you please…"

"Oh, thank you, but I'm quite fine here." Truth be told, Oscar found himself very unwilling to move for at least the next hour, as weary as he was from the battle. The girl, however, looked rather crestfallen.

"Ah, I…see…" She fidgeted with her skirt briefly. "Well, ah – um – if you should ever…you saved my life, so – our home is always open to you, sir knight!" With that, she turned and fled, looking all the more embarrassed. Oscar, too tired to be nonplussed, looked down at his drink and picked it up from the table.

"What is _wrong_ with you!" The exclamation came from Kieran, who was clearly quite drunk. He threw himself into the seat next to Oscar, smelling strongly of stale sweat and ale.

"Hello, Kieran," Oscar sighed, taking a drink.

"You could have had her, you know," Kieran said accusingly. "She was completely smitten with you! How could you have passed up such a fair maiden, you dastardly fiend?! Is it to taunt the rest of us, to suggest we are lesser men than you!? Why, I – I don't even understand by what trickery she came to admire your conniving person! Fiend! Liar! Squinty, tricksy – " Whatever last remark he intended to make, it was blotted out by a violently loud hiccup.

"I don't want the…fair maiden," Oscar murmured, leaning back against his seat. "I just want to rest."

"You could have rested! You could have rested your head upon her fair breast," Kieran pointed out, as if Oscar had suggested something as offensive as courting his mother. "Are you not a man? Are you not a _knight_?!"

"What does _any_ of this have to do with – "

"The captain'll be hearing of this!" Kieran shouted and jumped to his feet, waving his tankard wildly. Oscar daintily wiped away the drops of ale that landed on his face. "You won't live to see the – the – you'll die of your shame, you coward!"

It was with that nonsensical remark that Kieran clumsily bounded back over to the group, leaving a considerably befuddled Oscar behind. Shaking his head, he massaged his temple wearily. Perhaps he should have simply passed up the drink and gone straight to bed.

A light clank announced another visitor, however, and Oscar lifted his head, expecting to have to tell off another drunken knight. Instead, however, he saw the face of Greil. Now _he_ was valiant, Oscar thought mildly.

"Quite the interesting friend you've got there," Greil chuckled, sitting down in the chair opposite Oscar.

"I don't think he even knows what he's saying sometimes," Oscar admitted, rubbing his forehead. Greil seemed personable enough. Oscar had learned this much in his time in the Crimean army – figures of authority and power were not so intimidating up close and in person. It was a comforting thought, and one that made him feel more at ease addressing his superiors.

"I saw how you fought out there, boy," Greil said. He rested his elbow on the creaky wooden table and leaned forward a little, rather intently. "Impressive, for such a young lad as yourself. Your captain told me how you saved that girl, too. Not many soldiers would be willing to compromise the defense of their platoon for the sake of a single life."

Oscar suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed. In the heat of battle, it had seemed like the right thing – the only thing – to do, but when it was put like that, it seemed so…foolish and reckless. "I – ah – " Oscar started, finding himself at a loss for a decent explanation. "I didn't – it just seemed that – "

"No need to explain yourself to me, son," Greil said with a chuckle. "Your captain here might not condone what you did, but I for one agree. Every life is precious. None should ever be sacrificed. That's the problem with the army – they do great works, but lives are sacrificed too easily for them. They're too focused on that big picture." Greil gave him a look, and Oscar felt like the older man was looking right through him. "I like you, son. They can't teach what you've got in the army."

"I, uh…thank you, sir," Oscar said, a bit at a loss. Greil chuckled.

"You seem to like it with that captain of yours," he observed. "But if you're ever looking to leave the army, you let me know. You've got a standing offer to join up with the Greil Mercenaries. It's not as glorious as the army, but we do good, honest work. And we never leave a man behind."

Oscar opened his mouth to reply, but he was unwittingly interrupted as the red-haired knight came up behind Greil. "Sir," she said, her voice just audible over the ruckus of the room, "it's getting late, and I'm sure the young ones are waiting. We should head out soon."

"Right you are, Titania. Can't keep them waiting too long, or Soren might get cranky." With another low laugh to himself, Greil stood. "You think about what I said, son. The townsfolk around here know where to find us." He nodded at Titania. "I'll go round the boys up. We'll head back soon."

Greil disappeared into the crowd, but Titania lingered for a moment. "You're talented, soldier," she said to him, and when she spoke then she seemed, to Oscar, to have the bearing of a captain – a well-seasoned warrior. "What's your name?"

"Ah, Oscar," he said, putting aside his tankard. It didn't seem polite, somehow.

"I'm Titania," she said, extending her hand, and Oscar took it. She was still wearing her gauntlets. "Deputy Commander of the Greil Mercenaries. I saw you fighting out there – you've got real skill for someone so young."

"I – nothing like you, though," Oscar said, quite sincerely. "The way you swung that axe, it was…"

Titania merely smiled. "I suggest you consider Commander Greil's offer, Oscar. I'd be glad to have you in our ranks." She paused. "It's not just a mercenary company, you know. If you were to join with us, you're not just one of the soldiers; you're part of our family." She turned her head at the sudden sound of a table being noisily overturned. "Shinon, not again…" She sighed. "I'd best be going. It was – "

"Wait," Oscar said quickly. "I wanted to ask you – your armor…is it – "

"Yes, I was once a knight of Crimea, just like you." Her smile was benevolent. "But Commander Greil is different from the captains and generals of the army. He fights for something…different. He's always said that there are two types of men who fight in the army – those who fight for honor, and those who fight for valor. I believe that the kind of man who runs a mercenary company like ours fights for something else entirely."

Oscar had a flash of insight into her words. For a moment, he considered the possibility that he was not so different from Greil. Titania looked down at him with knowing eyes.

"I'd best be going," she said at last. "It was an honor to fight beside you, Oscar. Keep your lance straight and true – it'll lead you where you're meant to be."

When she turned and left, departing with the rest of the mercenaries, Oscar looked about the room. The carousing of his comrades was still going strong, none of them paying any attention to the lone soldier in his corner.

"It was an honor," he repeated to himself, and picked up his tankard.


End file.
